


Storm in Two Plastic Bowls and a Sweater

by loxleyprince



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Community: mfuwss, Easter Egg, Fluff, Gen, sparrows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 01:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loxleyprince/pseuds/loxleyprince
Summary: Napoleon and Illya help two sparrows and their clutch of eggs.





	Storm in Two Plastic Bowls and a Sweater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laurose8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurose8/gifts).



> An MFU Writers Survival School Easter Egg fic for laurose8, who wanted a story about canon characters helping birds nest, or raise their brood. Apologies to anyone who has ever hatched birds’ eggs, if this solution is entirely implausible. Mea culpa. :-) 
> 
> Cross-posted to LJ at http://mfuwss.livejournal.com/573108.html

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

"This is a bad idea," Solo said, gazing down. His handsome features creased into a frown.

"It is not a bad idea, Napoleon. It merely needs refinement to reach optimal effectiveness." The confident pronouncement did nothing to dispel Napoleon’s misgivings. Neither did the strained tone of his partner’s voice. 

"Illya," he began, tolerantly, "It’s half a bird’s nest, inside a woollen sweater, inside a plastic bowl, inside another plastic bowl filled with,” he dipped a finger tentatively into the second bowl before continuing, “tepid water. It’s not going to work.”

"Tepid?" The frown on Illya’s face matched Napoleon’s. “It should be warmer than tepid.” 

Napoleon suppressed a sigh. “Partner-mine, I hate to say I told you so...” The words were directed at Kuryakin’s retreating back. 

“Then do not!” came the irritated voice from the kitchen, followed shortly by its source, now clutching a kettle. 

“Illya,” Napoleon began. 

Illya ignored him, carefully adding steaming water from the kettle to the second bowl, before testing the temperature again with a finger. 

Napoleon tried again. “Illya.” He had to put both hands on the Russian’s shoulders before he was afforded his undivided attention. He couldn’t decide whether Illya’s obvious displeasure was a consequence of the physical contact, or the unwelcome distraction. With the same calm, confidence with which he approached megalomaniacs and unstable explosive devices, Napoleon met his partner’s furious glare without flinching. “I know you’re worried about the eggs. I know you were upset by the destruction of the nest.”

“It was unnecessary! The tree need not have been pruned now! They should have waited until after the chicks had fledged!”

Napoleon weathered the storm with characteristic stoicism, his hands squeezing gently. The anger drained from Illya’s face and his chin fell to his chest. Napoleon’s voice was soft with understanding, “I know you don’t want to take the nest to the Animal Sanctuary because it’ll distress the parent birds.”

Even now, the frantic calls of the sparrows were audible over the muted sounds of the Manhattan traffic. 

“They want only to protect their young,” Illya said quietly. 

He would not meet his partner’s gaze. Napoleon suspected that he could not. Illya had been a child of war and Napoleon knew well why he was so passionate about saving the unhatched chicks. “And we’ll help them. I promise.” 

Blue eyes did lift then, their earlier anger replaced by a vulnerability this man only ever showed to one other. “I watched them build this nest, Napoleon. I listened to them sing as they did so.”

 _Which explained the threads of golden hair woven intricately into the nest._ Napoleon’s mind shied away from the reason _why_ Illya had been there to witness the sparrows’ endeavours - the fall from the roof of a THRUSH satrapy that had broken Illya’s collarbone, dislocated his shoulder, and stolen every molecule of air from Napoleon’s lungs. _He had thought..._

“Napoleon?” Again there was concern in Illya’s voice, but not, this time, for the birds. “I am well.” 

Napoleon smiled, reassuringly. He shook Illya’s shoulders gently before releasing them. Sometimes, he forgot how well his partner knew him, too. “Do you still have that heat lamp UNCLE Medical gave you when you were recuperating?”

Illya’s face brightened. He nodded enthusiastically and made for the bedroom, calling over his shoulder, “It was not UNCLE Medical.”

Napoleon smiled to himself. No, it had not been Medical who had bought the lamp for Illya. _Of course he would still have it..._

It was the work of minutes to set nest, sweater, and both plastic bowls (humidity is important, Napoleon) on the table under the north-facing window and train the heat lamp on them. Stepping back, the two men surveyed the results of their labour. 

“I think this will work, at least until I can source a proper incubator.” The words were spoken with cautious optimism and no little relief. “Thank you, Napoleon.” 

“Teamwork,” his partner replied. “It’s what we do best.” 

Smiling shyly, Illya nodded. 

Napoleon smiled back, then stiffened. “Don’t move. Just look at the window ledge.” 

Illya did as Napoleon had instructed. Two sparrows were sitting on the window sill, looking in, the agitated hopping and frantic calling that had so characterised their early behaviour, now entirely absent. 

Napoleon’s smile broadened. “I think this is going to work just fine.”

*** Fin ***


End file.
